<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Does it have a face?! by MyOwnSoldier</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28648428">Does it have a face?!</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyOwnSoldier/pseuds/MyOwnSoldier'>MyOwnSoldier</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Teen Wolf (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fluff and Humor, I am bad with tags, M/M, Peter has a pet-rabbit, hit me up, if you have suggestions, pre-steter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 13:29:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,961</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28648428</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyOwnSoldier/pseuds/MyOwnSoldier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>During a protection ritual, Stiles gets "attacked" by pixies - and now he wants to know if Peter knew about the nest and set him up.<br/>When he arrives, things turn out different than he expected, especially when his "morning after" starts with a strange creature in Peters living room.</p><p>No beta.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>201</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Does it have a face?!</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>That's what I imagine Francis to look :)</p><p> </p><p>https://images.app.goo.gl/5dE2TNSah3BUwoV78 </p><p>Sheared </p><p>https://images.app.goo.gl/rZKPLksK2n3zGGDdA </p><p>Show-Worthy</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Stiles was fuming - no, fuck it! - he was fucking short of exploding into tiny bits of fiery rage. He ignored the weird squeaking sound Roscoe made when he changed gears and turned left, before parking on the curb in front of a swanky apartment building.<br/>
The cuts above his brow and his cheek, and the split lip burned slightly, but Stiles tried to ignore it, licking over the shallow cut and tasting the lingering hint of iron. He didn't care that he most likely looked like he just crawled out of a murder shack in the middle of the woods, with mud-encrusted shoes, bloody holes in his jeans, and torn plaid. His hair was most likely sticking in every damn direction, considering just how often he had run his hands through it and his fucking sprint through the preserve, chased by madly cackling pixies zapping his ass with magic whenever he got out of breath and slowed down.<br/>
Pixies. God, how he hated those nasty little fuckers.<br/>
"I swear to every deity known to man, if he knew about that nest I am going to fucking kill him. 'Don't worry Stiles, this part of the preserve is clear.' I give him fucking clear."<br/>
Muttering to himself Stiles strode towards the entrance of the building, ignoring the little gasp of the guy sitting behind the reception. And seriously, a reception? In a regular apartment building? He always knew that Peter was a pretentious snob, but this was taking the cake.<br/>
Pressing the shiny silver button of the elevator, Stiles closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The lobby smelled like a mixture between cleaning products and roses and it burned even his nose.<br/>
How could Peter stand this?<br/>
Tapping his fingers against his thigh he waited for the ding that told him about the arrival of the elevator, before opening his eyes, stepping in, and pushing the button for the top floor.<br/>
He had found Peters apartment months ago, but so far had no reason to actually visit the older man. Besides - if he wasn't so fucking done, he probably would have chickened out of actually entering the building.<br/>
A lobby with a reception. Seriously.</p><p>Now, that the adrenalin subsided, Stiles felt the burning in his legs and back and his exhaustion rearing its ugly head. He wasn't sure how long those winged little devils had chased him through the woods - while being immune to his magic, might he add - before they got bored and left him alone.<br/>
Leaning his forehead against the cool stainless steel wall of the elevator he took another deep breath. To be quite honest, his anger had deflated, together with the lack of adrenalin pumping through his body. He wanted answers, yes, but more than that he wanted a hot shower, something to eat, and to crash on a preferably horizontal surface for a few hours.<br/>
Another ding had him looking up and leaving the elevator. The hallway looked as modern, clean, and elegant as the lobby and again Stiles wondered what kind of people Beacon Hills bred that would actually live here. He wouldn't be surprised to see a butler or skimpy clothed maid puttering around.<br/>
On this floor were only two apartments - no sharing walls - and with tired determination, Stiles walked up to the door of number 28. </p><p>"Hold still, Francis."</p><p>Stiles froze.</p><p>"I swear to god, you're worse than Cora was as a toddler during bath time, hold fucking still, we're almost done."</p><p>Stiles blinked.</p><p>"..."</p><p>Who was Peter talking to? Pressing his ear to the wooden door he strained his hearing. Was that ... what was that squeaking sound?<br/>
Before Stiles could hear anything else, the door opened, effectively making Stiles falling forward and against a very firm, warm chest. </p><p>"Stiles."</p><p>Was that fond exasperation? He was going with that.</p><p>"Peter, heeeey."</p><p>Putting himself upright he looked at Peter and grinned tiredly. </p><p>"What are you doing here?"</p><p>"Can you make that sound like an actual question or is that whole 'everything I say sounds like a statement!'-thing a Hale-family trait?"</p><p>"Stiles."</p><p>Stiles shook himself, before remembering what he actually came here for. Pushing his finger against the firm pecs - ouch - he squinted at Peter.</p><p>"Wait. I am not here to be interrogated.", he hissed. "Did you know about the pixie-nest near the ritual-space?!"</p><p>Peter seemed confused for a second before he focused his attention on the various little injuries Stiles sported and with an eye-roll he sighed, turned around, and walked farther into his apartment.</p><p>"Come in and close the door, I don't need my neighbors to think that I frequent homeless, twinky prostitutes."</p><p>"Homeless, twin- what?!"</p><p>Peter looked him up and down and with a frown Stiles entered and closed the door. </p><p>"So. Did you know about that nest? I told you about the protection-ritual I was going to do tonight and I told you where I wanted to do it and you said nothing!", Stiles spat. "And when Derek said that the place was clean and I looked to you for confirmation, you didn't react!"</p><p>While Stiles ranted and followed Peter, the wolf had led him into the kitchen, took out a glass, and filled it with water. As soon as Stiles took a breath, he pushed it into the boy's hands. </p><p>"Drink. You look like you're close to passing out."</p><p>For a second Stiles was tempted to keep ranting, but with a huff, he started to drink - and heaven, he had not realized how thirsty he was. </p><p>"...thank you.", he finally mumbled, before putting the now empty glass on the counter.<br/>
"So. Again. Did you know? Because I just got chased through the preserve by butt-zapping pixies for who-knows how long!"</p><p>The fucker had the gall to grin at him. </p><p>"Butt-zapping?"</p><p>"Shut up and answer me!"</p><p>Peter shook his head, turned to the sink, and grabbed a piece of paper towel. He spoke while turning on the water and wetting it slightly. </p><p>"No, I didn't know. My runs tend to focus on the parts of the preserve I am already familiar with - that and the borders - so I foolishly trusted Derek to know what he was talking about. Come here."</p><p>Stiles blinked, watched as Peter turned around and beckoned him closer. </p><p>"Why?"</p><p>Peter rolled his eyes - again, Hale family-trait? - and held up the damp paper towel.<br/>
"I don't have any disinfectant here, but someone should at least try to clean you and those scratches up."</p><p>Squinting in disbelief, Stiles shrugged before getting a few steps closer. The firm, but gentle grip on his chin ripped him out of his stupor, and with growing mortification, he felt the heat rise in his cheeks. Closing his eyes and biting his tongue, he felt how Peter gently cleaned the cut on his eyebrow, a drip of water slowly running down his temple. </p><p>"Are those cuts the only injuries?"</p><p>Stiles nodded slowly. </p><p>"Good. Pixies are nasty.", Peter murmured, before focussing his cleaning administrations on the cut on his cheek. "But I'd really like to know more about said "butt-zapping"."</p><p>Stiles groaned, before half-heartedly pushing a fist against Peters chest, feeling the starting rumble of a laugh and the steady heartbeat.</p><p>"They kept zapping me with their magic whenever I slowed down.", Stiles mumbled, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "They kept cackling at me."</p><p>Fuck, he sounded whiny. Peter chuckled, before gently probing at his split lip. Stiles hissed and a second later the pain and aches of the last hour(s) faded. With a sigh, Stiles felt the exhaustion rushing back and couldn't stop his leaning forward until he felt Peters chest against his forehead.</p><p>"You're exhausted."</p><p>"No shit, sherlock."</p><p>With an exasperated sigh, Peter gently turned Stiles around, before maneuvering him towards the sofa, that took up almost half of the spacious living room. </p><p>"Come on, sit down."</p><p>Stiles did as told, still not having opened his eyes. He felt Peter wrangling him out of his plaid, felt the warm hands around his ankle, and taking off his shoes. Stiles was warm and comfortable and before he could give in to just flopping over, Peters hand cupped the back of his hand and gently guided him on his back. </p><p>"Sleep."</p><p>Stiles felt unconsciousness envelop him before he could even contemplate arguing.</p><p> </p><p>When Stiles opened his eyes the next time, the room he was in was dimly lit by sunlight shining through the blinds. With a groan he rubbed his face, hissing quietly when he remembered the cuts on his face. The mix between using quite a bit of magic and the running from the pixies had knocked him out cold. </p><p>"Good morning, sleeping beauty."</p><p>Stiles groaned louder.</p><p>"Fuck off."</p><p>"So rude. And after I graciously let you sleep on my couch."</p><p>Stiles managed to flip the bird in the general direction of where Peters voice came from.<br/>
Opening his eyes fully seemed like a gargantuan effort and with a wine he burrowed deeper into the blanket.<br/>
Blanket? Confused Stiles felt around and yes - he was covered in a war, fluffy blanket. Peter covered him with a blanket. And had cleaned the cuts on his face last night. And had made him drink water. </p><p>"..."</p><p>Stiles was a realist - and he was also relatively accepting of the fact, that he tended to lie to himself. A lot. One of the biggest lies he told himself in the last months over and over again? That he wasn't attracted to the creeper whose couch he currently occupied. For the second time in this apartment, Stiles felt heat rushing to his face. Had he really told Peter about the "butt-zapping"? Only the sound of a cup being put on the coffee table made him focus back on the present. </p><p>"Coffee. Breakfast is going to be ready soon, so try to be at least halfway coherent. I'd hate to have to kill you, for spilling coffee OR food on my furniture."</p><p>Stiles huffed, before carefully rubbing his eyes again and slowly sitting up. His whole body felt slightly sore, but the acute pain of overexertion from last night was gone. Opening his eyes a bit he grabbed the mug, took a sip, and sighed. Perfect. Two spoons of sugar and a splash of milk. Wait.</p><p>"Peter? How do you know how I take my coffee?"</p><p>Except for the sound of something sizzling in a pan it was quiet for a moment.</p><p>"I pay attention."</p><p>"Hm."</p><p>To be fair, Stiles knew how Peter took his coffee too - but case in point about the whole lying to himself.<br/>
Shaking his head and trying to fully wake, Stiles sat up, grabbed the mug with both hands, and stretched carefully. Other than a twinge in his back everything felt okay - he felt okay! - then he saw movement out of the corner of his eye.</p><p>"...Peter?"</p><p>"Mhm?"</p><p>Stiles blinked. He blinked again.</p><p>"I don't want to scare you or anything, but there is something weird sitting on your living room floor."</p><p>"Oh for fucks sake."</p><p>Some clanging in the kitchen later, Peter entered the living room, stood in front of the couch, and stared at the white-grey mottled ...fluff? sitting on his carpet.</p><p>"I swear to god, Francis. How?!"</p><p>Stiles stare wandered to Peter and the memory of the last night surfaced.</p><p>"THIS is Francis?"</p><p>Peters ears seemed to get red and with a hesitant smirk Stiles sat up more straight. </p><p>"Yes. That would be Francis. I groomed him last night. And if you tell anyone about him, I am not only going to deny everything, I am also going to eviscerate you as soon as a good moment presents itself."</p><p>Seeing Peter so flustered and ... blushing? really got Stiles going and with an almost manic grin, he pushed the blanket off of his lap, took another sip of his coffee, and leaned forward. </p><p>"Sooo."</p><p>"What."</p><p>"What IS Francis? Other than 99% ...Fluff."</p><p>"An asshole.", Peter grunted, before bending over - HELLO there, firm looking glutes, covered in denim! - and picking up Francis.</p><p>"Okay, so fluff and asshole. I can get behind that description, but I'd still like to know what he IS."</p><p>With a huff Peter sat down on the couch next to Stiles, looking up to the ceiling as if praying for strength and stroking the soft-looking fur.<br/>
Stiles saw a twitching, pink nose and felt his jaw drop.</p><p>"Is that-"</p><p>"Francis is an angora rabbit and if the next sound out of your mouth is a laugh or an unnecessary comment, I am going to throw you out."</p><p>Whatever Stiles reaction would have been, with these words he clamped his mouth shut, feeling tears gathering in his eyes. Peter. Had a rabbit. An ANGORA rabbit.<br/>
Stiles swallowed hard, took some hopefully calming breaths, and gently touched some of the white wisps of fur. </p><p>"He- Uhm. Soft. It's - HE! He's soft. Is there, like, an actual ... you know. Rabbit in there? I only saw what I THINK was a nose for a second but", Stiles got out with a squeak in his voice that betrayed his amusement. "It seems a bit ... unreal."</p><p>For a second there was silence, while Peter stared at Stiles, before he sighed and - with a practiced move - parted the fur. And yes, there was a rabbit. With huge ears. Or at least Stiles thought that what he was seeing were ears. And there were very fluffy feet and black eyes and an adorable, twitching nose. </p><p>"You have a rabbit."</p><p>"It's an angora rabbit and they are an incredibly distinguished breed!"</p><p>"You have a very fluffy, very cute - and it bears saying again - VERY fluffy rabbit. You."</p><p>Peter growled, Francis looked up at him but didn't react any further. Stiles put down his mug, held up his hands in defense, and grinned.</p><p>"Hey, no judgment. I just ... I am surprised, okay?"</p><p>Hell, Peters whole hand disappeared in the fur of the little guy - Francis! the voice in his head reminded him. </p><p>"He's usually not ... THAT fluffy.", Peter grumbled and looked at Stiles. And okay, Stiles was the first one to admit that he tended to be an asshole, but there was stubbornness and vulnerability in Peters eyes, that made him pause and think. His grin turned into a soft smile.</p><p>"No?"</p><p>Peter shook his head, seemingly distrusting of Stiles change of behavior. </p><p>"No. There's a.. showing in a few days.", he said. "After that, I shear him down, so he's more comfortable."</p><p>While the asshole-voice in his head screamed in unholy glee, Stiles simply cleared his throat and nodded.</p><p>"So, how long have you had him? And can I touch him?"</p><p>It took another moment before Peter seemed to deflate and gently caressed Francis's ears. </p><p>"About a year. I went to Deaton for some of his herbs and he had him and his siblings in the back. He was only a few weeks old and the runt of the litter. He was born without his left hindleg and apparently the owner was contemplating to have him put down, instead of dealing with the hassle of finding someone to take him."</p><p>The wolf looked deep in thought and gently separated a strand of fur between his fingers. </p><p>"I contacted the said owner and bought him. Just because he's ...different, doesn't mean he's worthless."<br/>
Stiles thoughts drifted to their first meeting, how Peters scars had spanned over half of his face and most likely a big part of his torso. </p><p>"He's indifferent to me being a werewolf and he's an escape artist. I didn't plan on taking him to showings, but other than his missing leg, he's the perfect specimen. And his former owner is showing too."</p><p>Stiles grinned. Revenge. Humiliation. THIS Peter he knew.</p><p>"So you decided to have Francis here, be the best rabbit at said showing, DESPITE missing a leg?"</p><p>"Precisely. Now, I think I should get back to breakfast before everything turns completely cold and inedible."</p><p>Before Stiles could react or ask about touching the fluffy animal again, Peter dropped Francis on Stiles lap, stood up, and went back to the kitchen. </p><p>Stiles froze, eyes wide. Francis stared at him with his twitching nose.</p><p>"Peter!?"</p><p>"What."</p><p>"I don't know how to handle a rabbit?!"</p><p>"Just pet him, he's not going to break."</p><p>Stiles threw a venomous glare towards the kitchen, before carefully putting his hand on Francis - and let out a soft "Ooohh...". </p><p>"He's so soft..."</p><p>"Of course he's soft, he's an ANGORA. It's in the name.", carried Peters voice towards the living room, and with an eye-roll Stiles started to card his fingers through the soft strands. </p><p>"You're a pretty boy, aren't you?"</p><p>Francis didn't seem to care about compliments. Instead, he yawned, sniffed at Stiles fingers, and otherwise let Stiles pet him. </p><p> </p><p>When Peter came back to the living room, carrying to plates with vegetable laden omelets, he seemed unsure. </p><p>"You're not going to tell anyone, right?"</p><p>"About your adorable fluffy friend?", Stiles said and looked up to Peter with a soft smile. "Don't worry. Your secret is safe."</p><p>Peter nodded, put the plates on the coffee table, and grabbed Francis off of Stiles lap, before putting him back on the floor. </p><p>He sat next to Stiles, sighed handed one of the plates to Stiles, and took his own.</p><p>"Thank you."</p><p>Stiles huffed with a grin and jostled Peters shoulder before digging in. </p><p>"Thank you for taking care of me last night. Didn't realize I'd crash so hard and so fast. And for breakfast.", Stiles licked his lips. "This omelet is delicious."</p><p>Peter smiled - not grinned or smirked or grimaced! - and nodded. </p><p>"You're welcome."<br/>
They ate in comfortable silence, until-</p><p>"I demand shared custody though. Francis will need some of my awesome "down-to-earth"-mentality, otherwise, he'll turn out a complete snob!"</p><p>Peter groaned.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>